my writing

Confrontation of myself

“He never apologised, you know,” she said. “For what happened, and what he did to me and so many others.”

I watched as she sighed into her glass of wine, and sipped from it again. So what does it mean to be feeling unsatisfied?

“He had– in fact still has– so many chances to do so. Aren’t we friends now?” She asked, with a bitter smile hanging around the corner of her lips.

I cleared my throat, hoping my emotions wouldn’t show. “He might not know he is wrong right? He might just think you have forgiven him already.”

“Forgiven? Forget? No, I can’t do it.” she started sobbed as she touched my face, her eyes bloodshot and teary.

I looked into the mirror and couldn’t hold back my forage of tears, letting them overflow into the sink. My glass of wine set down right next to the toothbrush and its cup, I couldn’t help but wonder why I’m drinking here, all alone.

He had his chances to apologise, but for something he never knew he did wrong. I felt the warm tears roll down my cheeks as I reached for the scissors in the cupboard.